


How far is too far?

by zort



Category: Slipknot (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not Human, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-19
Updated: 2010-06-19
Packaged: 2017-10-10 04:44:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/95616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zort/pseuds/zort
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris fucked up and is sulking about it, which wouldn't be a problem if he wasn't also a gargoyle...</p>
            </blockquote>





	How far is too far?

  
Crouching low on the corner of the roof, talons digging in the stone of the building, he sighs loudly and turns his head into the wind. It doesn't help. If he is honest, he will admit he did not expect it would; but he is not ready for honesty.

The wind blows his hair and he thinks about romantic pictures, where the girl's hair fly in the light of the setting sun. It is dark already and he is male, but the feeling remains. It is probably the single most inappropriate idea his mind could come up with, but it refuses to go away.

He loses track of time. The wind and the pictures in his head have long dissolved, he is still crouching and he cannot feel his hands anymore.

Then he feels the push in his mind, the call, the search and finally the voice. He does not understand what it says, but he knows the feeling that comes with it, he has been expecting it since he came to the roof.

Almost an eternity later, the door to the roof opens and the bulky figure of his band mate appears, dark shadow against the bright light from inside. Very dramatic, it works nicely with the earlier romance. As the figure walks on, the door closes with a loud click and the moment is lost.

There are feelings radiating violently from the man, most of his brain is not equipped to deal with them, but his body does not need to understand to react. He snarls threateningly and the man stops moving but there is no hint of fear in his smell, only the same mixture of feelings that he cannot decipher.

"Don't pretend you're that much of a fucking moron, Fehn!"

The voice is harsh, there is anger in it and something else. The words do not make sense, he is gone too deep. He snarls again, a reaction to the anger, a challenge for the man to come closer if he dares.

Dark eyes flicker in realisation and the man starts walking again. There is still no fear in the air and he growls instinctively, talons relaxing from the wall, ready to fight. But there is no fight.

Fingers brush across his shoulder and they are in two places at the same time.

He is two people, he is crouching and standing, he cannot understand the feelings and he can understand. The stereo is driving him crazy, he closes his hand around the man's wrist, his talons dig in the flesh. He pulls his unwanted guest deeper in. His body curls protectively. A metaphoric door closes. The voice finally makes sense.

"What the fuck d'you think you're doing?"

Sometimes he is not able to speak and he wonders if he misses it, with questions like this one he knows he does not. He shrugs and crosses his arms across his chest.

"F'you came here to fucking patronize me, Paul, you can fuck off right about now!"

He does not snarl as effectively without the fangs, but he does it anyway. This time though, Paul flinches back. And he knows it has nothing to do with the snarl and everything with the fact that they are as deep in his mind as possible. He smirks nastily.

"Afraid of where you are, dude?"

Paul glares at him and walks up to him, making stabbing motions with his index finger. He radiates accusations, anger, confusion and fear.

"Whose fault is it anyway? Who's fucking sulking after he fucking fucked up and making fucking threats on top of it?"

That is too much, even for his human side. Around them the room shakes and Paul suddenly looks deathly pale, bracing himself against a wall and looking at him with pleading eyes.

"YOU DON'T FUCKING GET TO MAKE DEMANDS WHEN YOU'RE INSIDE MY FUCKING HEAD!" He forces himself to close his eyes and count to ten, making the apparent earthquake calm down before he looks at his band mate again. "Just say what you came here to say Gray, then fuck the hell off!"

Paul is watching him like he physically hurt him, and adjusting his perceptions he realises that he is still holding his wrist in his talons, almost crushing the bones. With another effort, he loosens his grip, a flash of relief crosses Paul's eyes but he does not speak.

They look at each other for a few minutes, the tension decreases both inside his head and from Paul's projection. Eventually they both slide down opposite walls and sit cross-legged in the small part of his mind where he will always only be Chris.

"You could've killed Sid…"

He glances at the telepath, ready to fight again, to launch himself at him and beat him into a metaphorical bloody pulp. But Paul is not accusing anymore, there is no anger left around him, only worry, fear, pain and confusion.

He does not say anything.

"You never lash at Sid… Chris, look at me… You never lash at Sid. You fight with Mick, you hiss at Craig, you give me and Jim more scars then we can count but you've never ever lashed at Sid! What happened? What made you lose it with him? Why are you hiding here?"

Paul's eyes are almost gentle and that is worse. It reminds him of what he does not want to remember. He turns his head to the side and focuses on something that is most definitely not Paul. It does not help, Paul radiates his feelings too strongly to avoid them.

Then there is a warm hand on his shoulder and in the real world the way they hold on to each other shifts again. This time he knows his back is against the wall, Paul has him exactly where he wants him. One day he would like to learn not to let a telepath so deep in his head.

Paul triggers the metamorphosis back.

It hurts like having all your bones rearranged ought to hurt. It probably feels like having liquid fire coursing through your veins. Or maybe he is being overly dramatic and it only hurts like electricity firing through your nerves. He cannot scream, cannot unlock any of the agonizing muscles of his body, cannot even breath. And it is unfair, because at the very least he should be able to turn Paul half deaf for that one.

Eventually, the pain decreases and he knows he is back. Paul is curled around him, holding him like he has just narrowly escaped drowning. If he had the strength, he would snarl and lash out. It is a little ridiculous without the talons but he would manage something. Except it all aches too much to move right now.

"Talk to me, Chris…"

And he talks. Because Paul always gets what he wants, because then maybe he will sleep, because he is hurting too much to resist anymore. His eyes are closed, his head resting in the crook of his friend's neck, his voice barely audible but he does not care. Paul can sort it through.

"Manipulative bastard…"

Paul tightens his hold gently, but does not let go and possibly it makes the pain a little more bearable. If he was not responsible for it to begin with.

"Tell me."

He knows Paul will not relent and he is tired.

"I reacted and I fucked up… A smell. Caught me off guard… Too strong, too much, too fast. I'd almost ripped his throat before I knew what I was doin'…"

He trails off and sighs, too tired to keep speaking, waiting for Paul to yell again and punch probably, maybe kick, drop him definitely. But Paul does not. So he cracks his eyes open and there are Paul's eyes, but they are not really looking at him, until Paul blinks and their eyes lock.

"You are not saying you almost killed Sid because you were fucking jealous, are you?"

Not anger, disbelief, and somehow it hurts more than anger, because it mocks him, and his feelings, because he loves Sid, because… bec-

Because Sid's fucked people before and you never lost it… Chris, what the hell happened?

He resents the voice in his head, but it makes it easier. He can push the feeling along with the words. The frustration and the anger. A goddamn smell happened. Fucking pheromones. Taunting, parading, marking Sid as if he was nothing more than a vulgar whore.

And… ?

And sometimes Paul really is thick. Does he really need to spell it out, that the whole band are his, that smells are like words and some words are worth fighting for?

Territory then. Someone overstepped the limit?

Sometimes it is good that telepaths are good with words. He likes that word, territory. At least it makes more sense than that weird sense of ownership over a person he knows full well he has no rights on. The word lessens the shame and he smiles, content at last.

"You're weird, you know?" Paul smiles and his hold gets softer. "You done sulking now?"

He hopes Paul catches his last conscious thought and finishes the job of bringing him back. Sometimes friends are worse than enemies.

  
[the end]

**Author's Note:**

> To [](http://dragons-rage598.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://dragons-rage598.livejournal.com/)**dragons_rage598** because she's the bestest.


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